Someone To Count On
by Mara Sevvie
Summary: Hermione cannot sleep and checks in on all of her friends as they dream. One friend, in particular, needs someone to count on. -AU


Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. It belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc.

A/N: This was a one-shot that I wrote for a contest on an RP forum. It was required to include three things: a broomstick, a scar, and a muggle car.

**Someone To Count On**

* * *

The stillness of the evening was bothering Hermione Granger for some reason. Normally the silence was a blessing, but tonight the brunette felt as though something was wrong. Not a catastrophe, mind. Just… not right for some reason.

Perhaps it was just her instincts still kicking in.

Even after five years had passed since she'd seen any battle, the former Gryffindor continued to jump at small noises and unanticipated gestures. She still looked out of the corner of her eye as she stood in a crowded room, albeit less frequently. It was ingrained in her body to slow as she approached corners and discreetly check around them, although now she made an effort to do so only in strange, new places. There was always the feeling that she must dress as inconspicuously as possible, so as to avoid detection; this had been tamed to simply dressing more casually than most.

Whenever parties or get-togethers were mentioned, Hermione dug in her heels and stayed firmly planted in her own home for whatever event was occurring that day. She hated parties and reunions and memorials nearly as much as she had hated Voldemort. She knew she only made people uncomfortable by attending anyway. No one was at ease with her occasionally still-cautious mannerisms and slight difficulty in casual banter. They tried to include her, to make her feel welcome and accepted, but she knew the truth. She had never been accepted and probably never would be. Not by the lot of them, at least.

With a heavy sigh the young woman pulled herself from bed, grabbing her wand from the bedside table, and padded over to the overstuffed chair by the fireplace. Reaching for her robe and slipping it on, the still-bushy-haired woman stepped quietly into the hall and up the stairs to her friends' rooms on the third floor.

It was a mutual decision on all parts that Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Neville Longbottom all move into Hermione's house. It had taken a little renovating and adding a third floor to accommodate three more bedrooms and bathrooms as the second floor only had two, but it was still mostly the same home. The house belonged previously to Hermione's parents, but they had been so happy in Australia that Hermione had felt guilty in taking them away. In fact, they had been so carefree and content that she had not even approached them or told them about their former life. Only Harry had understood. Even Neville was confused why she would leave them behind. But she had, despite her grief in doing so, and now she was living in their house with her friends four years later.

Looking into Ron's room made her smile just slightly. The redhead was sprawled out everywhere. He had most likely flopped onto the bed in exhaustion and not moved since. He was snoring and mumbling in his sleep as he always had. She briefly wondered how Padma was going to live with Ron's antics after they were married. Hermione shook her head in amusement, glad that Ron was still the same, and then moved on to Neville's room next to that.

Her old schoolmate was laying on his side facing the door, the only sign that he still bothered with any kind of war-time rituals as she did. Neville was a very quiet sleeper, really. He barely even moved, except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and he usually slept through the night. Hermione envied that. Of course, Neville was usually the calm one. It sounded strange to say that, but the formerly-stuttering boy had been replaced by a man with growing confidence back in sixth year. Ever since then, he had been collected at all times, although he was still a sweet and tender-hearted person beneath it all. That particular combination of traits had earned him the affection of Susan Bones, whom he was planning on asking to marry him sometimes this week.

Coming upon Luna's room at the end of the hall, Hermione cocked her head to the side as she contemplated the younger blonde and her companion. Luna was laying on her side as well, hands lying beneath her head in a prayer-like manner and her body curled into a fetal position. The former Ravenclaw looked so much like a porcelain doll it was unnerving upon first impression. But Hermione was long past the stage of first impressions. She had misjudged Luna for a long while, but now she accepted her little quirks and strange beliefs. Four years and a war could do that.

Dean Thomas, the newest addition to their odd little family, lay behind Luna, an arm wrapped protectively around her waist. Their marriage five months ago had been unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome. He was also still, but for the slight and gentle snoring he emitted once in a while. Dean was unreadable as of yet, although he was opening up to them all. Neville, especially, was relating to him more and more. Another smile graced Hermione's lips. It was really heartening to know all of her friends had someone to count on after all they had been through.

Hermione had saved Harry's room for last, seeing as it was down on the second floor as hers was. She had been hoping that she would be feeling a little tired by the end of her walk up stairs and she could roll back into bed after checking on him.

Harry was fairly still (for the moment), but his brow was furrowed and sweat beaded his brow, emphasizing the ever-present (albeit much-faded) lightning-shaped scar. His breath was slightly erratic and he barely mumbled out some incoherent words in his sleep. He was dreaming again of old times. Hermione's heart bled for him.

Harry had become ever closer as a friend during and immediately after the war. When he had finally defeated Voldemort, he'd had no home to speak of. He didn't want to be alone really, so he had not built or bought his own. The Dursleys certainly were no option he would consider. The Black family home was too full of bad memories. The Burrow was awkward with Fred gone and with Ginny harping on Harry to renew their old relationship (despite the amount of bad feeling that had clearly passed between them).

Hermione had been severely depressed and lonely, she would admit. Harry's plea to move into the spare bedroom of her parents' house had been accepted without question or hesitation. Harry seemed to sense that she had a double motive for accepting, but he never questioned and for that she was grateful.

He had been living with her for almost two years when the others came. His green eyes had been looking at her over breakfast, lunch, and dinner for those two years. And every time she looked in them, she would feel sadness welling up inside. Thinking of what Harry had suffered in the war would make tears come to her eyes, though she knew better than to let them fall. Harry would end up comforting her if she did, when she should be the one comforting him.

Another sigh escaped Hermione as she reluctantly turned away from Harry's troubled visage and back toward her room next to his. She had barely laid herself down for ten minutes, not bothering to remove her robe as she was not tired in the least, when the cries reached her from the adjoining room.

"NO! Leave her alone! Don't hurt her! Please!"

Hermione bolted upright in bed upon hearing the broken cries. She rushed to Harry's room in an instant, lighting the small desk light as she passed it. The brunette sat carefully on the edge of the bed, gently touching Harry's shoulder as he thrashed about.

Harry sat up quick as lightning at the touch, sweat raining down his face and a terrified look in his eyes. Hermione's heart broke for the millionth time since she had seen this nightly occurrence, tears flooding her eyes at how lost he seemed. The black-haired wizard immediately set emerald eyes on his friend, relief and tears spilling forth like water. He reached out and Hermione moved to slip into his waiting embrace, slipping her own arms around his waist. He held her for some long minutes as he calmed his racing heart and his false fears.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," the young man whispered into her hair, holding her slightly tighter for emphasis.

"Don't be," Hermione spoke, muffled against his shoulder. She looked up into his green eyes with understanding, fully comprehending what he referred to, "You couldn't have done anything. It's all in the past now."

"I know," the boy-who-lived sounded more miserable about that fact, "I wish I could have, though."

"Let's go sit for a while," Hermione suggested with a soft smile, "We'll have some cocoa, all right?"

"Can we just…" Harry hesitated to voice his suggestion.

"What, Harry?" there was only curiosity in her voice, and the young man was encouraged.

"Can we take a ride?" he asked, fidgeting slightly.

"Uh, certainly Harry," Hermione was rather confused. Harry take a ride in a muggle car? She though he despised car-travel, "but I thought you didn't like them?"

"No, no," Harry shook his head quickly, amusement thankfully creeping back into him, "I meant a broom ride. I know you aren't too fond of them, but… I just need to feel the wind on my face. I feel stunted right now."

"Well…" the hesitation was clear in Hermione's voice.

She was _not_ fond of broom rides. Although, if Harry would feel better for it she would do it.

"I can go on my own," her best friend's disappointment was obvious and it made her feel badly.

"No, let's go," Hermione quickly intervened before Harry rose from the bed, grasping his hand familiarly in her own.

The sparkle in those bottle green eyes and the beatific smile that covered Harry's face was well worth a few hours of discomfort on a broom.

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A/N: I may write a one-shot prequel to this. I'm not sure. Let me know if you'd be interested.

Please review. :)


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